


The Smoking Gun

by RussianWitch



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Don't copy to another site, Gun Kink, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Situational Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 15:36:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17226710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: John's missing gun turns up in Sherlock's bedroom, along with Sherlock.





	The Smoking Gun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Danagirl623](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danagirl623/gifts).



> Not beta'd

Finding anything in the flat takes effort.

Everywhere except John's bedroom that is, and even there—things disappear on occasion. Most of the time, John takes his things disappearing in stride, a sweater here, a pair of socks there—his gun, on the other hand, is a different matter. He checks the room twice just in case, then works his way through the living room, kitchen and even the bathroom before only one place in the apartment remains unsearched.

Sherlock had been locked in his bedroom since the day before, that isn't unusual in itself. Sometimes he crashes and sleeps for days; sometimes he chooses to lounge around in bed instead of on the couch while proclaiming his boredom.

Rarely, the door is locked for long, is John's experience.

Sherlock, much like a cat, despises the company he craves.

It's easy to break the lock, jimmy it with a bank card like Sherlock has taught him, the oiled hinges silent as it falls open—He's across the room in less than a second, yelling "Sherlock, no" and knocking the gun out of the hand bringing it to Sherlock's mouth. His hands slip across sweaty skin as he tries to pin Sherlock to the bed and get the gun off the bed at the same time.

"John!" Sherlock howls kneeing him in the ribs, thrashing under him as John tries to make sure he hasn't done anything stupid.

Finally, he manages to pin the lanky man to the bed, panic receding now that the gun is out of the way—"John! What's gotten into you!" Sherlock yells in his face.

John realises he's no longer fighting, and what's more—the body under his hands is naked, slick with sweat and now that he takes time to breathe the room smells of—"Oh, fuck!"

"Quite," Sherlock huffs.

Turning beet red, John scrambles to the foot of the bed, finally seeing the crumpled sheets, tissue and a sizable bottle of lube making a mess of the nightstand.

His eyes are drawn back to the skinny body he'd just been pinning to the bed as Sherlock sits up wiping his chest with a corner of a sheet, his hard, dusky cock swaying lazily with every motion and slapping wetly against his abdomen.

"Sorry," John stutters tearing his eyes away, "but you were sticking my fucking gun in your mouth!" His embarrassment recedes as he thinks back on Sherlock's head thrown back against the headboard, mouth hanging open as he brings up the gun, his other hand stripping his cock.

"Oh," his brain short circuits as Sherlock's mouth twists into a crooked grin that makes his gut flip and the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

"Yes," Sherlock nods, showing too many teeth for the grin to be friendly.

He leans forward, and John braces for a verbal flaying which never comes. Instead, the grin falls away, Sherlock's face falling as a shudder runs through his body, pre-come welling in a fat drop at the tip of his cock.

"You were jerking off using my gun!" John finds himself growling.

"Obviously," Sherlock huffs, shifting again and moaning softly.

"Not _just_ with my gun," John's mouth goes dry, and he has to dig his hands into the meat of his thighs to keep from grabbing Sherlock again, rolling him over to see what exactly he's been playing with.

"How perceptive of you," Sherlock's eyes narrow, he drops onto all fours giving John a view of his skinny back, every vertebra visible like arrows drawing John's eyes to the swell of a tight, little arse.

A moan escapes him, hungry like he's been starving, and maybe he has a little. John hasn't managed to finish a date in a while thanks to Sherlock's penchant for taking cases at all hours and demanding John's presence while he solves them.

"Sherlock," he warns pulling back, reminding himself Sherlock is only good at social rules when it suits him, and forgets them completely the rest of the time, "what are you playing at."

"Don't be dense, John!" The detective sneers grabbing at John's crotch without warning, "I was masturbating, using your gun, fucking my mouth with it, _in fact_." He licks his lips, and now that John is really looking, they are swollen and bruised coming closer and closer as Sherlock leans forward while massaging John's cock through his trousers.

"Sherlock—whatever you're thinking," John says, gripping Sherlock's wrist tight and wrenching it off his dick, "I need you to spell it out for me!"

"If you're going to be boring, get out—leave the gun," Sherlock groans, pulling his wrist out of John's grasp and flopping onto his back.

"I'm not leaving you my gun!" John says, annoyance turning into anger. Ignoring his arousal, he circles the bed looking for the weapon in question.

As his hand curls around the butt of the gun, a moan from Sherlock makes him look up and bite his lip, the lanky body on the bed wiggling sinuously as he grinds his arse against the mattress.

"Fucking tease!" John curses.

"I did offer to put out," Sherlock tells the ceiling pushing the heel of his hand against the underside of his cock.

"I don't know what the fuck you offered! I'm dull, remember?" He could shoot the man, of course, he'd have to deal with Mycroft then—but getting disappeared would be worth it.

"If I'm going to have sex with anyone, of course, it's going to be you! Now stop being boring and give me your cock!" He rolls onto all fours raising his ass and John can see nested between skinny cheeks the dark blue base of some a toy.

"Come _on_ , John! Time's wasting!" He wiggles his ass, and John's common sense flies out of the window. Checking the gun, he flicks the safety on by rote before throwing it on the bedside table and kneeling on the bed between Sherlock's legs.

Ignoring Sherlock's eyes boring into him as he peeks over his shoulder, John concentrates on the toy occupying the arse that's being offered.

Pale pink cheeks frame the dark blue base; the firm textured plastic is warm with Sherlock's body heat and thick enough that the muscle smooth from the stretch around the toy. A gentle tug on the base is answered with a throaty moan and shudder.

John twists the toy and watches Sherlock claw at the bed.

"What have you got shoved up you?" John huffs as Sherlock's body reluctantly releases a length covered in ridges and bumps each one spreading the already training asshole torturously wide.

With each ridge that slips from his body, Sherlock gasps and whines deep in his throat, his hips swaying as he tries not to follow the toy.

Marvelling at the sight, John twists and pushes the toy back in to watch Sherlock arch off the bed with delight.

"John!" Sherlock moans into the sheets, as John pulls the toy out again, discovering another set of ridges right under the head.

"Did you plan on shoving my gun up your arse as well, huh?" He asks, sawing the toy in and out of Sherlock's body roughly and almost getting kicked for his effort instead of an answer.

"Stay still!" He orders, slapping Sherlock's arse, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing through the room. "Stay still and take what I give you!" John hisses in Sherlock's ear, straddling his legs to pin them to the bed. "Or I will tie you to the bed and leave you, so help me!"

"John! Fuck me!" Sherlock demands, his body frozen mid-arch arse in the air.

John slaps him again, leaving bright red handprints in his annoyance.

"Why should I?" He demands between strikes, "I'll barely feel it after that thing's been in you!"

Sherlock bucks under him, growling in indignation, a growl that turns into a scream when John wrenches the toy from his body leaving him gaping.

"Jooooooohn!" He still demands, and John can't have that.

"I could fit my whole hand in there," he notes as casually as he can manage, hooking his thumbs into the lax muscle as he leans down to sink his teeth into the bright red skin. "Has anyone done that for you, Sherlock? Put their whole hand up your greedy hole?" He sucks and licks at the slack rim until Sherlock sobs into the sheets a soft "please" barely disenable to John's ears.

"Not today." John growls, "you don't deserve it!"

Letting go of Sherlock's arse, he claws at his belt and trouser fastenings, freeing himself and biting back a curse at the feeling of cool air on his overheated cock.

"You've been bad, Sherlock, stealing my gun, playing with yourself all day while there are things that need doing in the house!"

He rakes his nails along the long back, slapping the crimson cheeks again.

"Really, John?" Sherlock groans, but the wiggle of his hips tell John he isn't objecting.

"Belt up!" John pants, thrusting into Sherlock's body.

The slick heat of him has John biting back a curse as he digs his fingers into Sherlock's hips.

"Tighten up for me; I can barely feel a thing!" John pants, slapping Sherlock's ass as he pumps his hips.

He leans on Sherlock's back, pinning him to the bed as he fucks in roughly, concentrating on his pleasure alone.

"Close your legs! Maybe I'll actually feel something then!" John growls, "I'm confiscating all your toys until you prove to me you can be a good boy," he pants against Sherlock's shoulder blades. "You'll only be using them under supervision, so you don't wreck your slutty hole completely." He pants as Sherlock's body tightens around him, wrenching his orgasm out of John.

Clutching at Sherlock, John gasps for air as pleasure rocks through his body, leaving him blind and deaf to everything but the way Sherlock moves under him, sobbing his need into the sheets.

"God, you're hot!" He slurs, once the haze of pleasure recedes a little and he manages to pull out dropping next to Sherlock onto the bed, watching the detective squirm as he catches his breath. "I should just leave you like this." He threatens, poking Sherlock's side until he rolls over, his angry, red cock slapping against his abdomen as he fucks the air. "It's what you deserve!" He says, wrapping a trembling hand around the oversensitive flesh and swallowing the resulting yowl, fucking Sherlock's mouth with his tongue as he jerks him off until Sherlock comes all over his hand.

John bites back a laugh at Sherlock's dazed expression as he goes into a relax sprawl among the mess.

"Rally, John?" He asks, throwing a leg over John's when he tries to get up.

"I'm still angry with you for taking my gun," John grumbles, pushing at him weakly.

"It wasn't even loaded," Sherlock huffs, pushing at John's arm until he's allowed closer.

"That's not the point!" He wants to be mad, but sex always makes him mellow and sleepy.

"Next time, I'll let you watch," Sherlock promises, nuzzling John's ear.

"There's not going to be a 'next time'!" John objects, but Sherlock is warm, and his body is sated.

"Do go to sleep," Sherlock says, wiggling lazily against John's side, possibly to get out of the mess they made of the bed.


End file.
